The Request
by TheWildCanuck
Summary: Zerrik is old, as far as Guardians go, which naturally means he has a lot of experience. It also means he has a lot of skeletons in his closet. On a particularly harrowing night, however, he finds that he is not alone in facing his demons. Join him as he relives old horrors, and finds new strengths.


Author's Note: Welcome, welcome, one and all! I was inspired to write this teensy little one-shot by the very charitable Astrarius, and I must say I'm glad I decided to honour Astrarius' request. I wrote this mainly as an introduction to the characters you'll be seeing in the story, hinting at one thing here, and setting up some backstory there.

In any case, I hope you all enjoy it, and please feel free to leave some constructive criticism or a general reply. I love getting a chance to improve my writing, or see what folks think of my writing.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Destiny. I'm not even really the master of my own Destiny, if I'm honest. I could do with some Bungee jumping though.

* * *

… _Deep breaths,_ pained _breaths, the sound of boots crunching on snow and ice. A lone figure, cloaked in the garb of a Hunter, ran through a graveyard of rusted metal and forgotten bones. The crimson hue of lost blood stained the snow beneath his feet, his eyes hooded and fatigued, yet determined. Soon though, his mad flight from danger came to a grinding halt; if only for the time it took to catch his breath. Above his laboured breathing rose another sound, dark and foreboding as it carried on the wintry air._

 _It was the sound of the Fallen, their broken tongue cutting through the peaceful wind like an electrified blade through flesh. His breath once again restored, the lone Hunter continued his dash towards… What_ was _he running towards? Safety? No, safety was as alien a concept as the Vex in this broken world. Perhaps he was only running out of a false hope, the hope that he would be spared if only he fought hard enough._

 _The cries of the Fallen came ever closer, their pace far outmatching his own._

 _This time, when he fell, there would be no getting up. The pain seared through him, blood oozing from his many wounds as he knelt in the snow; his vision blurring, his hope gone. He didn't hear them approach so much as he sensed them drawing nearer. As the Fallen raised their weapons, he glared at them with fire in his eyes, defiant until the moment that he felt the bullets rip through his..._

Zerrik woke with a start, a cold sweat soaking through his shirt as he gasped for breath. This was far from the first time that he had been subjected to these nightmares, yet he was never able to get used to them. He looked over to the bedside table upon which his ghost, Apollo, rested unaware of his Guardian's inner turmoil. Satisfied that he was safe in his quarters, Zerrik looked at his hands, pale blue and shaking, as they sat in his lap. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he resigned himself to another night spent in the shadows of his past.

Zerrik Thel was old, as far as Guardians went. He was one of the relatively few Guardians to live past their first century year of rebirth, something that the younger Hunters never failed to remind him of. He had fought in innumerable battles across the Sol system, from Mare Imbrium to the Black Garden. Tonight though, it was the Battle of Twilight Gap that his mind had wandered to.

…

He had been on patrol, providing field training for a pair of young Guardians, when he and his charges came across a small group of Fallen near the Gap. Unbeknownst to them, these Fallen were in fact scouts for a much larger force bearing down on the City. In spite of their relative lack of experience, Zerrik's charges performed admirably, mopping up the vandals and dregs quickly. It was at this point, after dealing with the Fallen scouts, that Zerrik made a grave mistake. Not knowing the true scale of what they would be facing, Zerrik made the decision to seek out the camp that had sent these Scouts, if only to gather intelligence on their numbers. In the end, all they found was an overwhelming force, and an early grave. Zerrik was the only one to make it back, though it would be stretching the truth to say he made it back in one piece. It was only the will of the Traveler that he was able to escape, his ghost unable to heal him in the chaos of their flight from the pursuing Fallen. It was pure luck that he was found by another patrolling fireteam, lead by none other than the late Ana Bray. Once they were free of pursuers, they made their way back to the Tower to report, Zerrik's ghost finally free to heal his wounded Guardian.

In the long battle to come, Zerrik would prove himself to be an asset to the Vanguard, leading many small yet successful raids on the Fallen lines, targeting high value targets and important equipment. Indeed, during the battle it was his light-infused bullets that could be found in the skulls of many a Fallen Baron or Captain. Even the erstwhile Archon of the House of Kings could not escape his wrath, falling to the triumphant tune of a glowing hand cannon.

Despite his later successes, it was his first flight from the Fallen that haunted him so, appearing in his nightmares more often than many of the other horrors he'd experienced. He would never forget that day, his feet pounding on the snow in harmony with the staccato beat of his heart. So to, he would never forget the pain in the cries of his fellow Guardians as they fell on that snowy battlefield.

…

So caught up was he in his reminiscences, he did not hear the light creak of hinges as the door to his quarters was opened, nor did he hear the soft whirr of precision servos as the door was closed by the unseen interloper. In fact, he remained unaware of his unannounced visitor until the mattress he was sitting on sagged from the added weight of a second body. He knew who it was, even before he turned to look into the dimmed blue light of those synthetic eyes. He found himself unable to hold her gaze, embarrassment and a tinge of shame overtaking his features.

"You can talk to me, you know," came the soft, mildly synthesized voice beside him. After a moment of silence, the Exo continued, "we all lose sleep once in awhile, it's nothing to be ashamed of." The reassuring touch of warm, metal fingers on his arm had Zerrik flinching, warring within himself while he thought of what to say.

Resigning himself to telling the truth of his feelings, he tentatively broke the tension of the silence that pervaded the room. "How am I supposed to focus on teaching new Guardians the finer points of _not_ getting turned into hive chow when I'm too busy shakin' off old ghosts?" His voice, usually so laid back and cheerful, was quiet; betraying the depth at which this dilemma dwelled.

"Those Guardians look up to you, 'Rik, they see how dedicated you are to teaching them." The Exo, designation Rheia-13, took what appeared to be a facsimile of a deep breath; whether it was to quell her nerves, or to place emphasis on what she was about to say, Zerrik couldn't tell. "And they're right to look up to you, but you don't have to be the 'King's Bane' with the people who care about you."

Zerrik was silent for the next few moments, mulling over the words in his mind carefully. Finally appearing to come to a decision, he snorted softly, a tired grin forming on his face and spreading to his sharp grey eyes. "What's with Shaxx and his bloody nicknames," he asked, his tone holding genuine, if strained, humour. "It's always bane of this, or bane of that," he said, the oh so familiar sarcasm beginning to crawl its way back into his voice."Mark my words, one a' these days he's going to start calling Cayde 'Ramen Bane'."

Quiet laughter suffused the room with an abstract warmth, the soft, red light from Rheia's mouth making dim shadows dance on the wall. "I'm sure that will be the first of his thoughts once he grows a sense of humour."

…

For the next few minutes, the two sat in comfortable silence, content to bask in the other's company. The only sound in the room was the soft rhythm of Zerrik's breathing, accompanied by the soft whirr of servos as Rheia wrapped an arm around Zerrik's shoulders, pulling him into a comfortable embrace. They continued to sit there in the dark of the room, until an idea planted itself in the Exo's mind.

"Zerrik?"

"Yes?" Zerrik drawled, lifting his head from Rheia's shoulder.

"I have a request for you," came Rheia's voice, her tone belying its importance.

"Alright, shoot."

"Promise me you won't let the worst of the things you've seen control how you see the world," she began slowly, marshalling her thoughts into coherence, "and if it gets to be too much to handle on your own, _promise me_ that you'll talk to _someone_." As she spoke, Rheia made sure that she was looking Zerrik straight in the eye, firmly holding his rapt attention.

Zerrik was taken aback, not at the request itself, (he had suspected that the conversation would end up here) but because of the way she made it. The unwavering sincerity with which she spoke tore away any thoughts of dodging the request with humour, leaving him to respond in the only way that felt proper.

.

.

.

"Yes ma'am."

~Fin~


End file.
